


Sid: Hidden Track

by Alshaworld



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Abandonment, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Impulsive Travel, Lost Love, M/M, New York City, POV First Person, Running Away, Soul-Searching, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alshaworld/pseuds/Alshaworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sid is in New York. What the hell is he supposed to do in New York?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sid: Hidden Track

**Author's Note:**

> These characters aren’t mine and rightfully belong to the creators of Skins UK. Nonetheless, I do like to put words in their mouths and make them dance for me.

I’m on a rooftop in New York looking down at miles of lights stretching higher and farther than could possibly fit in this tiny fucking island in the middle, Manhattan. I used to think it was the place the Mad Hatter came from, once, as a kid. Then Dad uttered some bark of contempt, _stupid boy_ , in that throaty Scottish growl of his, like a dumb terrier.

Now Dad’s dead and I can’t seem to find anyone who sounds like him, so I make him up. He’d have laughed to see me coming here. _Tony put you up to it, did he? Good boy. Always thinking ahead. That lassie of yours never going to come back to you otherwise. Dunno what she saw in you._

My mind keeps conjuring him up every second as if to make up for him being gone. Sometimes I think I knew Dad better than I knew me. I don’t know much about me, but I always know what he’d think. I see myself through him, through that curling lip and beanpole distaste of his. Like me, looking down on this gormless island, stuffed full of everyone in the world. Plus Cassie. I fucking hate it here.

What the hell am I doing?

Tony, what have you done?

Bleeding prat. I can’t believe he kissed me. I mean, we’re close, yeah? He’s my best mate. And then sometimes when I’m wanking it’s like he slips into bed with me. He’d do it too, just like that, the fucker. All wicked eyes and _didn’t think I’d do it, did you?_ And then his hand’s on my cock and it’s always such a surprise, like electricity, that moment I imagine his fingers closing around my balls. I groan and then he’s gone, just a flash in my brain, like the hidden track in my wank record or some bullshit like that. I’ll finish myself off and it’s tits all the way, but just for that second in the middle, he’s there. He’s not a bloke you can forget; he makes sure of that.

(Shit, just spilled ice into my lap. Typical, Sid.)

Cassie’s kind of the same. You know, I hadn’t thought of that before, or I have, because she mindfucks me every chance she gets, but I guess I never compared the two of them, like. Tony and Cassie. They do my head in. Like Cassie, what the hell? Running away to New York. Is that something you dreamed up in your whackhouse therapy sessions, that you’d do if you ever had the chance, and then you just disappeared there one day? Closed your eyes and floated away. Like on fucking drugs, but for real. 

How am I supposed to find you in a city full of people high and lonely just like you? It’s not like you’re in the phone book. You’re deep black market, like those pills killed Chris in the end. (Or I think that’s what happened. No one really explained that to me properly.) It’s never _obvious_ , is it? Where to look for the things you really want. Because they’re not... what’s the word... socially acceptable. Everyone wants the special shit, but most people just settle for whatever’s available. Me, I’d settle for anything. Grateful for a pat on the fucking head. 

Michelle, Michelle was awesome. My balls are itching just thinking of being up in her. I loved her yeah, but she’s like the usual shit. She’s practically over-the-counter, once you get her to notice you.

It’s quiet up here. I can see all the lights, and all the darkness too. I didn’t used to think of darkness being part of the view, but it is. It’s all the things I can’t see.

Cass, I bet you’re somewhere weird. Some garden full of stone clowns or an inner-city convent or a diner where you told the bar guy your name is Rosemary or bloody Anastasia, and let him drool all over you while you made up some sad story that isn’t even true.

I’m charging after you like some white knight, asking after you everywhere, and everyone I talk to might have seen you but under a different name or face, so they’ll never know it’s you. All I’ve got is this photo of you. It’s in my back pocket, under my wallet, all I’ve got with me that’s worth a damn. You’re carrying all my weight. It’s like I’m sitting on you, and you’re suffocating, but I’m the one who can’t breathe. 

I know you, Cassie. That’s why I know I’ll never find you.

But maybe you’ll find me, if I look long enough.


End file.
